Rue gestured to a vacant deck-chair. They were all sitting at this juncture, in an exhausted circle about the vanquished tea trolley. Even Rue, who generally had more energy than any other human on the planet, looked wan.

Miss Sekhmet sat gratefully. “Interesting night.”

“My dear lady,” said Prim, about to pour the last of the tea. “You have a gift for understatement.” She checked herself and instead poured the remains of the milk jug into a tea-cup and handed that over.

“You are a thoughtful thing, aren’t you, little one?” The werecat took the milk and sipped it gravely.

Rue thought it odd that Prim blushed so much at the compliment.

“Miss Sekhmet, who do you work for exactly? I thought you were with the Vanaras but they put you in a birdcage. But you can’t be with the Rakshasas – they put you in a flower cart. You aren’t one of Dama’s, so who?” Rue decided on the direct approach. She tried to emulate Primrose’s welcoming charm, but was too tired for acting.

The beautiful woman gave a self-satisfied smile. “My dear girl, I am cat. I don’t work for anyone.”

“Then why did you involve yourself?”

“For exactly the same reasons.”

Quesnel snorted. “Cats.”

Miss Sekhmet waved a hand. “Exactly.”

Rue thought back to their first meeting. “You were curious, you wanted to meet the world’s only metanatural. Perhaps have your form stolen and be mortal again?”

“My, now who values herself highly?” said the werelioness.

But Rue was beginning to finally get the werecat’s measure. If one thought of Miss Sekhmet and her behaviour as entirely cat-like, even when human, it actually made odd sense. “You’re exactly like Footnote.”

Percy, who was still mulling over the dangers of preemptive publication, rejoined the conversation at that. “I say, what?”

Rue laughed. Miss Sekhmet’s tactics were becoming clear to her. There was the gentle way with which the werelioness coaxed and complimented Primrose. The verbal equivalent of winding in and out of her legs, with a purr. Primrose, of course, was necessary to befriend for she controlled the ship’s larder. Sekhmet also teased Percy with exactly too little information. She had witty exchanges with Quesnel, not to mention ignoring him when he flirted. And then there was her, Rue. How was the cat wooing her? Blasé attitude, slight reverence for Rue’s metanatural abilities – the thing of which Rue was most proud. And of course she kept herself a mystery, knowing that all of them – Quesnel, Percy, Primrose, and Rue – were taken in by a mystery.

Rue leaned forward. “Percy has a cat, named Footnote. Or as Virgil put it, Footnote has a human, named Percy. I have this sinking suspicion that we – all of us here on The Spotted Custard – are about to have a cat too. I have a suspicion because, right now, I feel as though we are being had by a cat.”